


Convergence

by LookingForDroids



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Experimental Style, F/M, Ficlet, Parallels, The Captor Duality Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForDroids/pseuds/LookingForDroids
Summary: Two deaths, lightyears apart, each the parallel and inverse of the other.Note: The wordcount is inflated due to the nature of the work skin I used. I’m not sure of any fix for this. The correct wordcount is ~415 words.
Relationships: Sollux Captor/Feferi Peixes, The Condesce/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman
Kudos: 10





	Convergence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and credit to
> 
> [MohnBlumenkind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685086/chapters/39753822#pageone) and [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514573#pageone) for creating the interactive fiction skin that I used.

Time, your mother taught, is tangled, not a line or circle but a torn net in turbulent waters. There are discontinuities, fraying knots, points that converge and drift apart. Nevertheless, some events surge and ebb in parallel, borne on the same wave.  
  
When she dies, her scream is a force that is not sound ripping through a medium that is not space. It arcs through every nerve, across every synapse. You loved and hated her for every chain she laid on you, but there is no time to grieve, because your mother’s death is not the only death you feel.  


[Empress ==> Turn] | [Heiress ==> Descend]  
  
You have to step over cables to reach him. The block is a mess of them, twisting over each other in aggregated disarray, but you don’t care now what you step on and what you kick aside. When you lift him, he’s light in your arms, empty of everything and too frail without lightning to animate him. Blood smears his sign and trickles sluggishly from his eyes and mouth, golden on grey, and it feels tacky and wrong against your skin when you hold him close. A feeling like a cresting wave washes over you, lifts you, lets you fall.  
  
You cannot prevent this. 

Time, your mother taught, is tangled, not a line or circle but a torn net in turbulent waters. There are discontinuities, fraying knots, points that converge and drift apart. Nevertheless, some events surge and ebb in parallel, borne on the same wave.  
  
When she dies, her scream is a force that is not sound ripping through a medium that is not space. It arcs through every nerve, across every synapse. You loved and hated her for every chain she laid on you, but there is no time to grieve, because your mother’s death is not the only death you feel.  
  
**Empress == > Turn**  
  
The floor does not lurch as you spin to look behind you, though it feels as though there should be a juddering halt, a sudden silence. There is no loss of momentum, but the block goes dark, then bright again, as the ship switches to auxiliary power. The light is red now, a dull color that reminds you of nothing you know, and you cross the distance in two sharp steps, trembling with something that might be rage and knowing, even before you see him, that you’re already too late. He hangs in his wires, one dead machine among many.  
  
[Heiress ==> Descend]  
  
You have to step over cables to reach him. The block is a mess of them, twisting over each other in aggregated disarray, but you don’t care now what you step on and what you kick aside. When you lift him, he’s light in your arms, empty of everything and too frail without lightning to animate him. Blood smears his sign and trickles sluggishly from his eyes and mouth, golden on grey, and it feels tacky and wrong against your skin when you hold him close. A feeling like a cresting wave washes over you, lifts you, lets you fall.  
  
You cannot prevent this. 

Time, your mother taught, is tangled, not a line or circle but a torn net in turbulent waters. There are discontinuities, fraying knots, points that converge and drift apart. Nevertheless, some events surge and ebb in parallel, borne on the same wave.  
  
When she dies, her scream is a force that is not sound ripping through a medium that is not space. It arcs through every nerve, across every synapse. You loved and hated her for every chain she laid on you, but there is no time to grieve, because your mother’s death is not the only death you feel.  


[Empress ==> Turn] | **Heiress == > Descend**  
  
You clear the water in a flying leap, and the world goes dark, then bright again, as you pass through the Gate to the other side. There is no loss of momentum, but disorientation hits as the direction of gravity reverses and you are falling though a universe no longer familiar. You hit the shattered roof of the hivestem and race down the stairwell, short on time, afraid, until you can tear open a door and see him. The hives are silent, and he’s collapsed on the alchemiter, surrounded by a scattering of bees, one more stilled life among many.  
  
You have to step over cables to reach him. The block is a mess of them, twisting over each other in aggregated disarray, but you don’t care now what you step on and what you kick aside. When you lift him, he’s light in your arms, empty of everything and too frail without lightning to animate him. Blood smears his sign and trickles sluggishly from his eyes and mouth, golden on grey, and it feels tacky and wrong against your skin when you hold him close. A feeling like a cresting wave washes over you, lifts you, lets you fall.  
  
You cannot prevent this. 

Time, your mother taught, is tangled, not a line or circle but a torn net in turbulent waters. There are discontinuities, fraying knots, points that converge and drift apart. Nevertheless, some events surge and ebb in parallel, borne on the same wave.  
  
When she dies, her scream is a force that is not sound ripping through a medium that is not space. It arcs through every nerve, across every synapse. You loved and hated her for every chain she laid on you, but there is no time to grieve, because your mother’s death is not the only death you feel.  


[Empress ==> Turn] | [Heiress ==> Descend]  
  
You have to step over cables to reach him. The block is a mess of them, twisting over each other in aggregated disarray, but you don’t care now what you step on and what you kick aside. When you lift him, he’s light in your arms, empty of everything and too frail without lightning to animate him. Blood smears his sign and trickles sluggishly from his eyes and mouth, golden on grey, and it feels tacky and wrong against your skin when you hold him close. A feeling like a cresting wave washes over you, lifts you, lets you fall.  
  
You will not permit this.


End file.
